17 January 2008

Mean reds day...

I feel like my perfectionism is going to tear me apart. I just want to twirl in the rain with Paul Varjak...
First bad work day. A ransacked apartment. A lack of refrigerator, and having to throw out really expensive European butter and apple cider sorbet (don't worry, nobody broke into my apartment-- I was just once again reassured that you sometimes can't rely on people ). But worst of all, my personal guilt at just not being a paragon of perfection.
"You know what's wrong with you, Miss whoever-you-are? You're chicken. You've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, 'Okay. Life's a fact. People do fall in love. People do belong to each other.' Because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness. You call yourself a free spirit, a wild thing, and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well Baby, you're already in that cage -- you built it yourself. And it's not bounded on the west by Tulip, Texas or on the east by Somaliland. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself."

1 comment:

Pomegranate said...

Can we be perfect? Is there a solution, no POTION we can drink to acheive that?

Or maybe we're better off with our quirks and stuff?